Page 121 of After We Fall

The beauty’s in the wild. Lean in.

“In the event that you deem it necessary to hire someone else as program director,” I say, “the work files are organized in such a way that the transition will be seamless.”

Meredith crosses her arms over her chest. “Let me guess. You have recommendations for your replacement?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds about right.” She taps her finger on her lips. “Three candidates?”

“Five.”

“Of course.”

“Four of them are local, including Daphne Fielding, even though—full disclosure—I think she would rather focus on developing the art program at the ranch instead of running it. You should hear her talk about a project she wants to do with the girls that ties into her graduate studies.” A project she’s almost heartbreakingly passionate about, and the longer I watch her at work, the more I want to know. “But I really like the candidate from Virginia. She’s willing to move, and I wondered if it would seal the deal if we paid her moving costs.”

“Your five candidates, even Miss Virginia, won’t have what you have to offer these girls.”

“You haven’t seen their résumés yet.”

“Penelope,” Meredith almost growls. “You wanted to prove that you were capable of taking care of the girls while we were on our honeymoon? When we returned, Bianca spoke her first sentence to me that wasn’t filled with a bad cliché from her past. Nothing remotely coherent for the first ten weeks of her stay, then I leave for my honeymoon, you set up drum lessons for her, and she’s speaking sentences.”

Luke is the one who bought her the set. I open my mouth to point that out, but she says, “And I suspect you are the reason why, for the last four days, Tanya has walked around with her head held a little higher, using advanced vocabulary correctly for the first time in months.”

I look away, sigh, then focus on her again. “And what about Finley?”

“I don’t blame you for Finley. You’re the one who has to forgive yourself for her leaving. And, I’d like to point out, it’s wasted forgiveness because it wasn’t your fault she left in the first place.”

I purse my lips. Maybe someday her words will sink in, but today Finley’s situation still stings.

“I have news that may come as a shock to you,” she says, leaning forward. “It may be very true that you love these women more fiercely than the rest of us.”

Not knowing how to reply, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, warmth spreading through my chest.

“And you have something that only you can offer them. You and I might not talk about it a lot, but your history gives you great strength at Twelve Bluebells. You know what people need and how to get it for them before they understand what’s happening. The tasks you do behind the scenes protect and love the girls in ways that they won’t ever truly understand. What they do know is that instead of feeling sorry for them, you respect them. You hand them their dignity without having to say a word about it. You forge a complete and total belief in each of them that spurs them to grow as women.”

I hold out my hand. “That’s you, Meredith. That’s not me—”

“Oh, Penelope. Twelve Bluebells may have been my creation, but you? You breathe life into it.”

How can that be? I would have lived all my years working on the west side of the fence property line with Harlan. But the east side of the fence beckoned to me. Pursued me. Gave me a place to belong.

Twelve Bluebells breathed life back into me.

She leans back and picks up her drink. “Do you have a paper shredder?”

“Of course I have a shredder. What respectable working woman doesn’t have a shredder? That’s like asking if I have a label maker. Or Post-it notes.”

“Post-it notes are a modern-day miracle.”

“Exactly. And paper shredders are an office supply evolutionary phenomenon. So yes, I have a shredder. Why?”

“I’m hiring you as my program director, and I need you to take whatever’s in this blue folder and shred it to pieces. Then throw it in the recycling for good measure.”

Several days have passed since I’ve felt like smiling, but as I stare at Meredith Holcombe, our future sitting in the boardinghouse in front of us, I smile so wide that my cheeks hurt.

“Consequently”—she takes a sip of her tea—“what was your backup plan? Where would you have gone if you didn’t get the job here?”

“Blake Hartwright wants me to be his personal assistant.”